Cold Winters
by cursedgirls13
Summary: "What is there to do? What is there to do, but to watch as bodies fall to the ground from exhaustion and famine? What is there to do, but to watch as those people mock you with their kind smiles?" It's tough, even for Hiro Sohma, to survive these harsh conditions.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, guys. I'm here with another story (ﾉ◕ヮ◕****)ﾉ*****:・ﾟ✧ ****! This one is a historical fiction, and I was inspired by Momiji's half-German background (I love him so much) (ㅇㅅㅇ❀****) . There's not very much Hetalia in this, yet, but there will be soon φ(・****ω・｀ ****) ! - Makoto**

_**Disclaimer : **_**I DO NOT own anything in this story whatsoever, except the plot.**

**Can you guess what book these characters are from?**

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><p>He wanders around aimlessly, looking up at the gray sky. What is there to do?<p>

What is there to do, but to watch as bodies fall to the ground from exhaustion and famine?

What is there to do, but to watch as _those_ people mock you with their kind smiles?

He feels a pull on his coat, and turns around. A small boy, about nine-years-old, looks up at him.

"Misha," the older boy whispers, placing his hands on the other's shoulders, "where have you been?" Misha grabs onto one of his hands, pulling him towards an abandoned area.

"Here," he says, handing the older boy a baguette. The brunette smiles slightly.

"Alright, we'll share it when we get up to the apartment, 'kay?" Misha nods, his messy, light-caramel locks bouncing softly. The older hides the bread in his coat.

"How's Uri?" the brunette asks about the red-haired boy as he and Misha walk back to their apartment, hand in hand. The smaller's hand is warm, probably from being inside the hotel.

"I haven't seen him lately," he replies sadly. "I miss him."

"Sorry, you'll have to make do with me," the other says, swinging their connected hands slightly. Misha shakes his head.

"I don't mind being with you! It's just…I'm worried…" The older boy nods.

"I understand. Don't worry, he's got that spirit―a surviving one." He smiles―a real, genuine smile―tapping Misha lightly on his delicate nose.

It's a shame, really, he thinks. Misha would be the cutest boy he laid eyes on, if only the living condition weren't like this. He is already endearing with his tousled, light-caramel locks, cat's green eyes and cupid's bow lips.

The brunette opens the door to their shared apartment, shutting close once both of them are safe inside. Misha sits down on the floor with a sigh.

"Here." The older boy offers a piece of bread to the smaller. "Don't eat too fast, Misha."

"I know," he whines and the former laughs slightly.

"Just checking." His 'big brother' instincts were just kicking in.

Misha and Uri are the only family he has now.

"After you're done, why don't you get some sleep, Misha?" he suggests. "You look tired."

"Yeah, I will." The older boy winces slightly as he sits down. If he took off his coat and the light jacket, underneath there'd be a juicy, purple bruise on his upper right arm. Misha notices this with a concerned furrowed brow.

"Are you okay?"

"Mm-hm. Don't worry about it. It'll heal soon enough." The brunette shrugs. He's used to it, though, having scars all over his body from years out on the streets.

"It's not like we have any doctors, anyways," Misha says, bitterly. The older boy sighs, grabbing a piece of bread for himself.

"It's to give us tough skin."

"Almost too tough, don't you think?"

"Nah. Not in this situation. Trust me." The brunette takes a bite of bread.

"Trust me". How ironic in this situation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, guys! Man, I haven't updated this story in a quite a while. Sorry about that, but here you are―another chapter (❛ัॢᵕ❛ั ॢ)✩*.⋆ ! - Makoto**

_**Disclaimer : **_**I DO NOT own Fruits Basket, Hetalia, or Milkweed by Jerry Spinelli. **

**Did you guys guess that book? It's a great book.**

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><p>The brunette wanders around the ghetto again, in the morning when Misha is still dreaming of better places.<p>

Someone walks by slowly, obviously struggling to keep up with the enormous amount of bodies piling up in the wheelbarrow he's pushing.

It's painful to watch.

He just walks past, watching as a couple of young children run around playing tag. Their soft giggles and hidden smiles don't make him feel any better; it just reminds him that these are children.

Children.

He's a teenager, but that's still counted as being a child.

The teenager continues to walk along, observing the dark world around himself. He grimaces, seeing a blond man stand tall in his uniform and shiny boots.

A Jackboot.

The brunette quickly hides behind the building, to the right of himself. He really wishes he stayed at Misha's side, feeling great worry for the younger boy.

To his surprise, he can only hear rough, nerve-grating German. No screaming, no crying, no yelling. Yet.

German isn't his native language, nor did he bother to learn a single word of it. His first language was Japanese. Somewhere along the lines, he picked up on the Polish language, making it his second fluent language.

Uri is a Jew. Although his red hair and chocolate eyes allow him to blend in with the rest of the Polish.

The brunette hears a scream from one of the small children, not really feeling as his calloused fingertips scrap against the rough bricks of the building.

Suddenly, he feels a warm hand grab onto his upper arm. On instinct, not caring if this person is a fellow Jew or Jackboot, the brunette quickly and harshly pulls his arm out of the hesitant grip, running away quickly. Away from the apartment and Misha.

He ends up in an abandoned apartment, leaning against a wall to catch his breath. The boy can see his breath in the cold air, and his lungs and throat burn from it too.

Who was that person? he wonders. Were they a Jackboot? He highly doubts it, knowing that those people aren't necessarily quiet. But he thought about seeing a glimpse of blond hair.

The boy remembers Misha.

"I need to get back..." He pushes himself off the wall, and out of the room that reeks of death and pain. The cold air burns his lungs, as he's still breathing heavily, when he walks. To his relief, he sees that the Jackboot is gone. He keeps his guard up all the way back to his shared apartment. Misha is still curled up into a little ball on the floor, looking small and frail.

I must look like that too, he thinks, sitting down next to the younger boy. Misha shifts closer to him, probably sensing warmth, and the older boy lets the younger curl his cold fingers into the button-up sweater underneath his coat. He figures its probably nice and toasty from his body. The teenager smiles slightly, moving closer to Misha as well.

He also figures that if anyone should live, it should be someone who has potential at living life to the fullest.

He never really was the optimist.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey, guys! God. It's been nearly a month ヽ****(；▽；****)ノ ****. I really need to stop multitasking.**

**Anyways, I have to admit that I'm rushing this story a bit, and I'm trying to slow down ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ . - Makoto**

**_Disclaimer_**** : I DO NOT own anything in this story.**

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><p>The brown-haired boy and Misha walk outside in the ghetto, not seeing any sign of Jackboots, but the older boy keeps his guard up.<p>

"Hey." Someone grabs onto the brunette's arm. He whips around to face a young man with shoulder-length blond hair and green eyes. The brunette lets his guard down slowly. This guy looks beat up; probably had a run-in with a Jackboot.

"You…" he says, studying the boy. "You're not from around here, are you?" The brunette shakes his head.

"No. I'm from Japan," he replies. "My family and I moved to Poland because of my father's job."

"And you ended up here?" The blond man looks disgusted, but not at the boy. His expression softens again when he speaks to the teenager. "My name is Feliks Łukasiewicz. What's yours?" The boy hesitates, then says,

"Hiro. Hiro Sohma." Feliks smiles.

"It's nice to meet you, Hiro." He lets go of the brunette's arm, kneeling down painfully in front of Misha. "Hello, Misha."

"Hi Mr. Feliks!" the caramel-haired boy greets cheerfully. Hiro glances around nervously.

"Maybe we should move inside," he says lowly. Feliks nods quickly.

"I'll take you to my apartment. No one comes there. Promise." The blond man leads both boys to a very secluded part of the ghetto, where it seems like most of the apartments are abandoned.

Feliks closes the door behind himself. "Right. I was going to ask you something, Hiro."

"Yes?"

"How do you know how to speak Polish?"

"Well, if I'm going to live in a foreign country for the rest of my life, mind as well learn the language," Hiro says dryly. Feliks smiles slightly.

"Sorry. By the way, where's Uri?"

"Uri is outside of the wall," Misha replies.

"But of course," Feliks says, he turns to Hiro. "I met the two boys when I was out on the streets. Germany hasn't been very nice to me lately." The brunette blinks, sensing an underlayer to that last sentence. Germany really hasn't been nice to _anybody_ lately.

"Hiro...do you have any family?"

"No. They all died," Hiro replies. Dark chocolate meets bright emerald.

"Who was in your family?"

"My father, mother and younger sister Hinata." Hiro's eyes look tired. "If you were wondering, my father was a part of the embassy in Poland. Maybe that's why the Germans targeted him."

"Isn't Japan on Germany's side?" Misha asks, while Felix looks slightly surprised at how perceptive Hiro is. He was about to ask about the boy's father's occupation.

"Well, yeah. But I guess they assumed that Hiro's father was on the Allies' side."

"He was," the brunette replies. "And my family was the price for that."

"What about you?" Feliks asks.

"My father helped me escape, but I ended up here anyways." Hiro smiles slightly. "At least I met you guys." The blond man is amazed that this boy, this teenager, has lasted this long.

"...How old are you?" he asks.

"Fourteen." The same age as Uri. Feliks nods.

He has met Hiro's father, Kiyoshi Sohma. He was a kind, young man with lots of determination. Kiyoshi was a risk-taker, and Feliks sees a lot of him in his son; in Hiro.

Hiro seriously can't believe that he let himself trust Feliks so easily, but there's something peculiar about him.

Feliks gets a determined look on his handsome features. "I'm going to get you two out of here. They're planning something for the rest of us. And we all know that that isn't good."


End file.
